


Matters of the Bazaar

by Frogget



Category: Fallen London | Echo Bazaar
Genre: M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Overall spoilers for Bazaar/Masters lore I guess, Space bats kissing, Spoilers for Heart’s desire, spoilers for SMEN
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:29:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25383859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frogget/pseuds/Frogget
Summary: What does Veils want, really? He wants to kill the damned abomination, that is for sure, they both know that. But that is just a fraction of what he truly wants; Veils wants to observe him, wants to always have Cards in his line of vision, always close; a terrible beast to tame, not to slaughter. Cards is beautiful, fascinating, deadly and so similar to himself. How wonderful it would be to be a master of such a beast, to be the only one it would bow its head to.He wants to learn from him to become stronger. Veils is a curator, but Cards is more. Veils knows how to communicate with his kind, how to hunt with them, how to kill them even, should it come to that; Cards is one of them, but he is not like them, a Master yet more, thus he requires a new, different approach.
Relationships: Mr Cards/Mr Veils
Kudos: 8





	Matters of the Bazaar

For the first time in a long while, Veils is afraid.  
He is used to being the one that others are afraid of, used to filling their hearts with white, agonizing terror, before ripping them off from their soft, meaty bodies.  
It comes with the territory, of course; it comes with being the apex predator, the one most dangerous, most cunning, fastest, deadliest. Even the others of his kind are getting slower and more civilized after playing Masters for so long. The hunt seems to be of less interest to them than overseeing and controlling their possessions is these days.  
Veils simply cannot understand.  
Does it not feel oh so wonderful to soar the skies while hunting? Does a fresh kill not fill them with an ecstatic, pure joy now? What have they become, and is he inevitably bound to become the same?  
And then - Cards appears.  
His joining the Masters was as much a surprise as it was an inevitability. It felt unavoidable, like fate is. His existence itself was a miracle of Red Science that shouldn’t have happened, something wrong and abominable and beautiful.  
Some of the others think him a lesser lifeform, still. Fires, in particular, talks about Cards with a strange sort of contempt, spitting his words with a sorrowful scorn; He’s been keeping an eye on this one since the Battle of the Wolfstack Docks, He says, his fingers twitching ever so slightly; It is a damned shame he did not choose a better life for himself. He would’ve been better off human.  
He would’ve been, perhaps.  
Less dangerous, at least.  
Now he who was a human, is a Master. He is unlike any of them and he is more than what they are. He was a lieutenant, a murderer, a thief, a genius author, a praised governor - an exceptional human in all that he did, his influence prominent throughout all of London and beyond, in port Carnelian in his better days; he was also a wretched friendless abomination when seeking that which should not be sought stripped him of all of the ultimately unimportant things.  
He had so much and lost even more, and now he is among their ranks, a force to be reckoned with, an enigma.  
How can they not see the danger that he is? How can Wines dote on him so? How can Fires feel sorry for him?  
Veils is afraid and it feels exhilarating.

***

\- Lieutenant Thornberry! - Greets Veils, hungrily observing Cards.  
Cards, disappointingly, does not betray any emotion at all, doesn’t so much as flinch when turning to face him, giving but a slight nod in greeting. Then again, perhaps Veils just isn’t very good at reading him yet.  
\- What do you want, Veils? - He asks in an unimpressed voice, eyes glistening from under the cape - so much like his own, yet still unfathomably human.  
What does Veils want, really? He wants to kill the damned abomination, that is for sure, they both know that. But that is just a fraction of what he truly wants; Veils wants to observe him, wants to always have Cards in his line of vision, always close; a terrible beast to tame, not to slaughter. Cards is beautiful, fascinating, deadly and so similar to himself. How wonderful it would be to be a master of such a beast, to be the only one it would bow its head to.  
He wants to learn from him to become stronger. Veils is a curator, but Cards is more. Veils knows how to communicate with his kind, how to hunt with them, how to kill them even, should it come to that; Cards is one of them, but he is not like them, a Master yet more, thus he requires a new, different approach.  
Veils thinks about killing Cards this very second, where he stands. Would he be fast enough? Would Cards be able to dodge in time, and if so - would his curator or human reflexes be the ones to thank for that?  
Would he strike back?  
\- I want to get to know you a little better is all. - Veils says. It is not all truth, but it is as much as Cards will get.  
\- Get to know me, huh? - Cards’ voice sounds coarse from under the cape and there is a hint of amusement to his tone. He half-turns away from Veils to look out of Bazaar’s windows at the city below. - Curiosity is something I myself find difficult to resist.  
It is clear what he means - the Name. Veils is not pleased with the turn the conversation seems to have taken, but he did expect Cards to bring it up at some point. Cards, Thornberry then, was a seeker, the insatiable, reckless sort. That is what makes him even more incomprehensible - he knows, he knows; he knocked, then turned back and came straight to the Bazaar to become one of them, one of the monsters who betrayed his God. Despite now being one of the Masters and knowing their nature, Cards still seems to see Him as something greater, something deserving of unconditional worship and devotion, yet strangely enough, none of the others seem to notice.  
But why did he turn back then? Why is he here?  
\- Curiosity is an admirable trait, - says Veils, step by step coming closer to where Cards is standing. He stops a few steps away, still, not wishing to disrupt the fragile politeness. - However, one should not let himself be blinded by the pursuit of matters futile. Especially if the one in question is someone who has grieved and hated and came back empty-handed.  
Cards seems to be deep in thought, but there is a tension in his back, a hatred so bone-deep that it is clear to see even with your eyes closed. It doesn’t seem like he is keen on continuing their conversation.  
When Veils turns to take his leave, Cards’ low and raspy voice reaches his ears:  
\- Jerk.  
It’s refreshing and Veils can’t keep himself from smiling.  
***  
Veils sees Cards a few more times over the next weeks. The new Master manages his duties quickly and efficiently, seemingly operating in many places across London at once. He can rarely be seen in the Bazaar, and when he is, he is unapproachable. Always busy, always working, much to Wines’ delight; the latter has been suffocating under the burdens of the Bazaar for the longest time now, so it must feel nice to have someone to share his duties with. They often talk, these two, hushed whispers, secrets shared between two fast friends; Wines’ soft and pleasant tones and Cards’ hoarse and short replies can be heard in bits and pieces. “Dear friend, do consider…”, “I see that, but…”, “Well if that’s how you wish to pose the question, then of course…”.  
It makes Veils’ insides burn in a peculiar way and his eyes narrow. It is wrong to converse with the beast in a manner deserving of a high society. Veils cannot allow Wines to dull Cards’ claws, to bind his wings and groom him into becoming a civilized creature, for that is not what he is supposed to be.  
Veils wants to break open this façade of politeness, to forcibly drag out the dark, monstrous nature of Cards to see him in his true murderous glory. He wants to see him slaughter, wants to see Cards soaked in blood, feral, eyes dim with the ecstasy of the first real kill, feasting on the flesh that was trembling with life and terror mere seconds ago.  
Veils quivers at the thought of witnessing that moment.  
Cards sees him approaching first, curiously tilting his head. Seconds later, Wines also takes notice of Veils and amicably greets him, but Veils only has eyes for Cards.  
\- Fancy seeing you here. - He says, eyes unblinking. - Not out and about the city, I see?  
\- I have all of my assets taken care of for now, if that is what you’re implying, Veils. - He answers with an edge, staring right back at Veils. - Or did you want something else?  
\- As a matter of fact, I did, yes. - It is difficult not to let the hunger show in his voice. Veils places his hand on a windowsill and drags his claws across it with an awful sound. - Wines, I’m taking Cards here flying with me.  
That is not a question, so Wines doesn’t answer it. Instead, he produces a sound suspiciously similar to a chuckle, and leans a tiny bit forward.  
\- My, my. Isn’t it rare to see you show such enthusiasm, Veils. Well, our friend does need some more lessons in agility, after all. Will you be back by tomorrow morning?  
\- You’re not my mother. - Replies Cards, begrudgingly, though he doesn’t argue with the prospect of flying lessons.  
\- Mother..? - Repeats Wines, not understanding the correlation. - I’m afraid I don’t follow.  
\- That… Human mothers typically… care about their children and want them to return home at an appropriate hour. - Cards seems uncharacteristically flustered all of a sudden. Did that strike a nerve?  
\- How very lovely! You must educate us more on the human matters, dear Cards. - remarks Wines with what seems like genuine fascination.  
Veils lets out a howl of desperation over the achingly dull conversation. He wants to fly, what are these bloody idiots talking about?!  
Cards turns to him and there is a clear smirk in his voice:  
\- Oh, are we tiring you, Veils? Humanity isn’t something you keen on, is it? - There is a bite to his words, again. An accusation like before. “Humanity” still means compassion, devotion, trust for Cards; it’s nigh time he understood it is not something he can afford to have anymore.  
\- Humanity is for humans, Cards, and I’m perfectly content being a Master. If it’s something you’re not willing to sacrifice, then perhaps you should consider seeking a new profession.  
\- Do not speak to me of sacrifice, you wretched bastard. - Cards all but spits; it is endlessly more fun watching him change from a perfectly civil gentleman to a spiteful dog biting back on the behalf of its owner.  
Wines observes their argument with a delighted expression, choosing not to interfere. Veils waits for a moment longer, waiting for Cards to lose control of himself even more. When he regrettably doesn’t, Veils reminds him of the initial purpose of his visit:  
\- We’re flying tonight.  
***  
The first time they fly together that evening is unpleasant and unproductive. Cards flies too low or too high, he is rigid and he is constantly thinking about controlling his wings. It aggravates Veils to no end.  
\- Stop thinking so much, you hopeless idiot. - He yells. - Flying is our instinct, same as walking and breathing. You don’t think about each and every step you take, now do you?  
\- Maybe I would, if falling down meant my death. - Cards says, looking at the spiky lands of the Prickfinger Wastes below, although he clearly does it mostly out of spite and not out of genuine concern for his own wellbeing.  
\- Fearing death, are we? - Veils says in good humor and hits Cards square between his shoulder blades.  
The powerful hit leaves Cards breathless and dazed. Veils looks at him, not a muscle twitching in his face, while Cards is falling down, mere seconds away from being pierced by the deadly spikes below.  
And then he rises.  
His large dark wings take him up in the skies again, he rises above torture and death, powerful and victorious, reborn. Cards looks down upon him with blinding, beautiful fury in his eyes, nostrils flaring, fangs bared. Every muscle in his body is tense and ready to close in for a swift kill.  
“If he kills me someday, I want it to be merciless” thinks Veils at that moment, blood boiling with exhilaration and arousal.  
Cards understands, of course. Veils’ trick helped, made his Curator instincts take hold of his body, forcing out the human logic.  
Cards is thankful for that, even if he does not wish to show it; there are sparks in his eyes that weren’t there before. His body changes, he gradually lets go of the stiffness, allowing his muscles to relax. There is still caution to his movements, but that too shall pass soon enough.  
\- Now that you know how to fly, learn how to hunt. - Says Veils with a carefree expression.  
\- Did you just try to kill me? - Cards snarls, his fingers twitching as if they want to reach out to Veils and rip open his chest in search of a heart that isn’t there.  
Veils scoffs.  
\- Stop with the self-importance, will you? - He says, flying small circles in the air. - Your complete inability to learn something as easy as flying is so frustrating. Your inaptitude is baffling, really, and worst of all - it is ruining my fun.  
\- Why did you want to fly with me?  
\- I’ve told you what I want.  
\- You said you want to get to know me. - Cards remembers, after a short second. He seems lost, for some reason, as if he himself is unsure of what there is about him worth knowing.  
Veils doesn’t answer that. Instead, he flies as close to Cards as he can and reaches out to take hold of Cards’ hand. Cards stares at him like that is the strangest thing that has ever happened to him in his life, and knowing what Veils knows of his past, that says a lot.  
\- You could be so powerful, if only you’d realized that you are no longer what you used to be. Leave the humanity that is holding you back behind you and fly with me. Kill with me. You are one of us now.  
\- You don’t know what you’re saying. - Cards replies with an exasperated sigh and frees his hand. - You don’t know what I am.  
\- Then show me. - Veils insists, moving closer again, unwilling to let Cards get too far from him. - Show me what you are and when I know, let me destroy what is holding you back.  
The night air is still around them, heavy and hot. Nights in London are rarely this way; they’re colder, harsher, with winds from the North getting under your skin and making you feel frozen and hollow inside. There is something lurking in the darkness of these nights, more often than not, it’s movements erratic and unpredictable and strangely familiar.  
One should not be afraid of the dark if he himself is more horrible than it is.

They fly together more after that. Almost every evening, Veils comes looking for Cards in his quarters of the Bazaar, and finds Cards waiting for him with a barely hidden impatience. Whether it is his desire for self-destruction, his unexpected trust in Veils’ ability to find the source of his torture and destroy it, or just his instinctive need to fly and to hunt in a flock with his kind, Veils isn’t sure; nor does it matter for their purpose.  
Cards is getting better at flying by the day. He seems to be joyous when he flies, too - as though soaring the skies takes his mind off whatever dark thoughts it might have been focused on. Seeing him like this makes Veils feels something he cannot admit to himself yet.

***  
Hunting is a slower progress, much to Veils’ displeasure.  
Cards proves himself to be a capable pupil; when he hunts, he notices his prey and closes in for the fill with a swift precision of someone who has done this many times before. Yet when he kills whatever animal they’re hunting that night - Cards refuses to hunt humans, oddly - he cleanly snaps its head, granting it a quick and painless death, before bringing the prey back to Veils.  
\- You look like you’re hunting for food. - Veils says, when Cards drops a corpse of a wolf to his feet. - You’re not, Cards.  
\- What am I hunting for, then? - He asks, looking up at him, his large stature still kneeled down before Veils, hands stroking the dead animal’s fur, as though comforting it.  
\- We hunt because it is part of our nature. - He places his hand on Cards’ head, the gesture as tender as it is odd. He thinks about it a minute more, before saying: - Lest we forget how to.  
The next kill Cards brings him is soaked in blood.

***  
Watching Cards kill is a pleasure he’s been yearning for for a long time now, yet ultimately it is not what he’d envisioned it would look like.  
After their talk, Cards hunts with an edge that wasn’t there before, but neither does he loose himself in the bloody chase. He uses his whole body as a weapon, all sharp fangs and daggerlike claws and toned muscles; tearing, slashing, snapping. He returns with various prey in his hands; he returns bloody, heavy-breathing and wild, but there’s always an even look in his eyes.  
His hunting style turns out to be unlike Veils’ own, yet that somehow makes it even more captivating.  
Afterwards, when they are resting together on a clifftop, close to each other, their wings but a breath apart, Cards says:  
\- Do you remember when we spoke of humanity? - He waits for a nod before continuing. - You suggested I leave it behind. The truth is, I already have, a long time ago. Back when I was a human.  
Cards stares in the distance, past the horizon; he looks north. His voice is sorrowful and cold when he tells Veils:  
\- Do you want to know why I turned back? I came all the way, I knocked and I turned back. Returned to London, to Bazaar, the very place I had sworn to destroy. I even surprised myself at that moment, to be honest.  
\- Why? - Veils asks.  
\- Because I am a traitor. Like you are. All of you, but you specifically, Veils. I betrayed so many people to get to that point, I condemned so many innocent souls to damnation only for my own pursuit of the revenge, all of it - for revenge. I burned, and I burned, and I burned with hatred for you, I wanted nothing more than to make you suffer the way He had suffered. Whenever I didn’t dream about drowning, burning, devouring, North, I dreamed about murdering you in His Name. - His breath stutters, and he shakes his head with a sigh. His hands move as if to reach out, but before Veils can reach back, Cards shrinks away. - And then I realized. I’m no better than you. A traitor. I didn’t deserve to reach the end, to be with Him, just like you never did. All of us seekers, I… there must be some other way. Something other than betrayal over and over and over again. I don’t deserve to be by His side, so I willingly sided with the ones I hate most, with the ones who betrayed Him. This is where I belong.  
Veils looks at Cards’ profile in the moonlight. It is so similar to his own, indeed. Similar to that of Wines, Fires, Pages, all of them.  
Similar to Candles.  
Veils reaches out his hand to Cards, somehow sure that he would never reach him - his hand would go through Cards, like he was a ghost, a memory, a shadow. Cards would disappear and Veils would be all alone again.  
But Cards doesn’t disappear.  
He jolts a little when he feels a hand on his cheek. He is probably still not used to how being touched feels in his new skin; rawer, Veils would guess, but then again, what does he know.  
\- You are right.  
Cards looks at him like he had been lost for a very long time and Veils found him. His hand reaches up slowly to hold Veils’ in place.  
\- You are like us. You belong here.  
The desperation in Cards’ kiss a second later makes it clear that he wants nothing more than to stay. To belong.  
Veils kisses back with just as much heat and ferocity, biting on Cards’ lip with enough power to drain blood. This blood, dark, rich, bewitching, would price high in the Bazaar. As it is now, though, Veils has the large, dark drops all to himself, to swallow desperately and to fuel his kisses with even more hunger.  
Their lips are starved, their hands clinging desperately to one another in the blinding darkness. Nothing matters but the two of them, the traitors who have never been more honest.  
The dawn is sure to come soon, bringing with it the clarity and certainty of a new day. As it has been said: “In matters of the Bazaar, look to love, always”.


End file.
